Hazel Lucan Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Dublin

I reckon it’s a mixed bag, y’all. Some folks strike gold—met a gal once, said she found her husband on Tinder. Ain’t that a hoot? Married off a booty call! But then there’s the flip side—catfishin’ creeps, ghostin’ jerks. Makes me madder’n a wet hen! Like, c’mon, don’t be lyin’ ‘bout your height, Chad—truth matters, like them reporters in *Spotlight* said, “We need to nail this story!”

© 2025 a Reach plc subsidiary

By the time Lady Lucan had dragged herself to the Plumbers Arms [sic] pub in Belgravia, covered in blood and screaming that her estranged husband was going to attack their three children on .

First off, I woke up late. Classic me. Alarm didn’t go off. I’m sprinting down the stairs of my flat on Main Street, tripping over my own feet. I mean, who needs coffee when you’ve got adrenaline, right? I finally make it to the library, which is on the corner of St. Mary’s and the River Liffey. Beautiful spot, but I’m not here for the views.

Late Comeback Sees Lucan Sarsfields Draw With Kilmacud Crokes